


half my bones in city streets

by gayxiaolong



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baby Driver AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Semblances (RWBY), Angst, Depictions of Violence and Abuse, F/F, Heist, aka adam is in it, be gay do crimes, blake still has cat ears & ilia still changes colors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28281816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayxiaolong/pseuds/gayxiaolong
Summary: Blake barely picks up on the faint sound of music playing in the girl’s headphones before she sees lips moving to sing along. Her ears turn to the sound without her even trying, entranced.I’d give all of my heart to you, Belladonna***or, a Bumbleby Baby Driver AU
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long, Ilia Amitola/Emerald Sustrai, Minor or Background Relationship(s):
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	half my bones in city streets

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the Baby Driver AU that has been living in my brain for a while! you don't need to be familiar with the movie to read, though (a lot changes!)
> 
> title from Half by PVRIS

The city streets of downtown Vale are quiet as Blake pulls up to the curb. 

She looks through her dark-tinted sunglasses at the others in the car with her. All Blake knows are their codenames; she never gets to learn more about the people she drives- and wouldn’t dare ask. Griff sits in the passenger seat- a man with bright orange hair and an obnoxious bowler hat. Buddy and Darling, the lovebirds, sit in the backseat- a chameleon faunus with her hair in a high ponytail and a striking girl with dark red eyes and mint green hair.

Blake gives a nod in the rearview mirror, a signal. When the others nod in return, she reaches for her headphones. She presses play on her scroll, a feedback screech followed shortly by a guitar riff filling her ears.

The three others open their doors, grab duffel bags from the trunk, and make their way across the street- pulling grimm masks over their eyes in the part of the street they learned is in a camera blind spot. The masks and the fear they represent strike Blake as discordant from their business attire. They look put-together - an everyday vision of downtown workers - until you see their faces. 

The lead singer comes in- a low, airy voice smoothing over her hairs that stand on end. No matter how many jobs she’s been a part of, the nerves always get her. It’s the unknown, the unpredictability, that sets into her bones. Countless jobs have ended with bodies, with the sleepless nights that follow the violence she witnesses. The music helps with that, sometimes- a constant, a factor she can control. She watches Darling’s steps - a hood pulled over her head to hide her bright green hair - as the heeled feet hit the pavement exactly to the beat. 

As the crew opens the door to the bank, Blake looks away. She takes in a breath, thinks ahead to the getaway- the team’s and her own. _Two jobs left,_ she thinks out loud to the empty car, _then I’m done_.

She makes a mistake in looking over to the bank. Through the glass windows, she sees Buddy cocking her gun. Her eyes snap back to the street in front of her, lips mouthing along to the song in a desperate attempt to ignore the gunshot sounds she can now hear. Her ears fold against her head at the sound of a scream. Her gloved fingertip feels the pressure of the ‘volume up’ button pressed against it with more force than necessary. Her other set of ears listen to the bassline, a pattern far more steady than her heartbeat. 

She never really _stops_ listening to music, the sounds always giving her comfort. The world around her turns, and turns, with sounds too loud and overstimulating for her. Her human ears ring- a constant, dull ache on each side of her head. Her cat ears, even covered with a bow, pick up on every little noise well enough for her other set to be occupied with music. 

In the corner of her eye, three sets of feet rush out of the bank as an alarm sounds. She takes them in, each with full duffel bags in one hand, shotgun in the other. Through the grimm masks, there’s no sign of remorse, any indication of guilt. Blake knows, though, that she wouldn’t see any different with their masks removed. 

They pour into the car that never left ‘drive’, Blake speeding off at the third _bang_ of a door closing. The formula the getaway drive follows- evasion, distraction, blending in- comes easily to her. Her thoughts fall into the robotic, almost automatic, actions. Her reservations stay on the road behind her, adrenaline eclipsing anxiety.

Blake’s ears pick up on sirens a few streets ahead of her. At the intersection, she pulls on the handbrake. The back wheels lose traction, drifting with ease into the crossing city street. She gains speed, weaving between cars with practiced motions. Every step of this rings familiar, save for the yelps of the two women in the back seat. 

The red and blue flashes in her rearview mirror alert her of another cop tailing her. The light in front of her turns red, but she speeds through, dodging the advancing traffic with a small enough margin that the police rams straight into an oncoming truck. 

Another car with blinding siren lights soon takes its place. Blake drifts a tight turn into a back alley, cutting off the cop. She swerves around the dumpsters, narrowly avoiding a delivery truck. The guitar riffs and falsetto notes only help her confidence as the car comes out the other side unscathed.

Several police cars speed down the street towards her as she drives straight over the median and dodges a minivan. The highway is in sight ahead, but the cops are gaining on them. 

Blake makes a decision, ignoring how the man next to her stares wide eyed at her. She drives up the exit ramp of the highway, trying to drown out the honking that grows louder as their car races up through the vehicles making their way down. At the top of the ramp, she floors it, jumping over the guardrail onto the correct side of the road. She feels her seat jolt with the force of the green-haired girl behind her bracing for impact. 

Helicopter blades sound off above them, following another black car as it speeds down the highway. As a bridge covers them overhead, Blake quickly steers into the right lane and slams on her brakes. The black car behind her honks, swerving left to avoid collision. Blake’s lips curl into a smile as she matches pace with the car next to her. She peels off the next exit, the helicopter sound growing distant as it now follows the wrong car. 

Blake feels a hand clap on her shoulder in silent celebration of the move. As she drives down the street on the south side of the city, she spots the parking deck containing the switch car. She turns in, pulling into a spot a few down from the car parked there for them- a total soccer mom minivan. 

They get out of the car, pulling off their suit jackets to reveal more casual clothing. Blake walks to the passenger seat, Darling pulling out the keys to make the final drive to their warehouse on the other side of Vale. Blake sits down, drawing in the first full breath of the day- _they made it._ The emotions can find their way home again.

  
  


***

  
  


“Hi, can I have 4 black coffees, please?” She smiles at the man behind the counter at a coffee shop by the docks. He smiles back at her, leaving her chastising herself for making an impression. She knows she shouldn’t do that, knows she should blend in the way Adam tells her to.

“Name for the order?” 

_Order with your alias_ , Adam always reminds her, _you don’t want anything tying your name here._ She obeys the thought, replies, “Baby.”

“Baby?”

“Like B-A-B-Y. Baby.”

The worker shakes his head, turning around to fill her cups with coffee. This has always been her job, getting coffees after each heist. The rest of the crew fill in their leader on the details and divide up the stolen money and dust. She’s expected to return with drinks, one coffee for each of the four remaining members. She could get herself something, but the thought of their leader having any more information about her, even just a tea order, is enough of a deterrent to just go without.

She looks around the shop, head still bobbing to the beat of the song in her headphones despite how it rings out of tune against the song playing through the café speakers. Through the window, she watches as a woman with cascading blonde curls dances down the street. She looks free, safe, warm, in a way Blake has never been. It’s enchanting, the way someone can look so unbothered surrounded by strangers on the sidewalk. There’s something familiar, a pull she can’t explain.

“Order for Baby,” the sound pulls her back to the moment. She turns to the voice, eyes landing on the man handing her a tray of coffees. She takes them with a smile, refusing to feel bad about it.

When she makes it outside with coffee in hand, the woman is gone- a fleeting vision of her future lost to the street she now walks along.

As she makes her way back to the hideout, cop cars race by her, still on the search. Her ears turn away from the blaring sirens- both intentional and instinctive. They’d never suspect her, she knows, but her hands tense around the coffee tray regardless. She’s falling in line with the regular lunch crowd, a bow hiding her faunus traits, a criminal hiding in plain sight. 

  
  


***

  
  


She closes the door to their warehouse, clicking the lock closed behind her. The music in her headphones is instrumental, a steady percussive beat outlining every action she takes. Her boots hit the floor on rhythm, her finger taps on the cup she holds, she sets each drink down on the downbeat. Every moment timed with precision acts as a reminder, a prayer, a promise to herself; _‘some things are within my control’_. 

Blake sets the last coffee down on the long table in front of Darling. The green haired girl sits on her girlfriend’s lap, fingers outlining her freckles which light up pinker by the second. Blake takes a seat further back from them, a seat pulled a distance away from the table. She watches her shadow, a muted gray blurring her features over the concrete floor. This version of her, shapeless and motionless, replaces her visions of herself bloodied and tainted. Her flaws smoothed over, her mistakes shaded, this form of herself is the only one she can stand to look at.

“So what’s her problem?” Blake hears the voice, eyes flicking up to look at Griff through her sunglasses. The orange-haired man directs the question about her to Adam, despite her being just feet away from him. He walks with a cane, but not out of necessity. He must think it gives him status, authority, though Blake doesn’t think he has either in this room. She doubts Adam will work with him again. 

Adam has already gotten riskier in his planning. He branched out in desperation nearly a year ago when he started working with humans. It took several jobs for Blake to get used to humans working with them, but she knows better than to call out any of Adam’s decisions.

“She can drive better than anyone we’ve had on our side, what the hell more do you want,” his voice is low but laced with anger, practically spitting at the man who makes his way over to Blake. 

The man hides a laugh at the leader’s outburst as he comes to stand over Blake. He leans over her, squinting down at her look of disgust. He looks through her, searching for a flaw to pick out, a leg up to gain, or maybe just a reason Adam trusts her so much. 

“So are you mute? I know a girl who’s mute.”

“No,” is all Blake gives him, all she thinks he deserves in response. She hears Darling and Buddy laugh, breaking up their public displays that Blake finds hard to look away from. 

He reaches down to pull an earbud out, a ringing returning to Blake’s ear. 

“Leave her alone, dude,” Buddy responds, her freckles reacting in scarlet annoyance. Darling places a lipstick-heavy kiss on her cheek, smirking as they turn pink again. 

“I just wanna know what’s going on in there,” his voice hits a higher pitch, annoying in its irregularity, “Aren’t you curious what’s going on between _those ears_ …”

His eyes stare at her cat ears, now freed of the bow she wears outside the warehouse walls. It’s infuriating, insulting, but she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of her reaction. Her face stays free of expression; her eyes that glare at him stay hidden by her sunglasses.

In her periphery, Adam visibly bristles at the insults towards her- a defense she knows is motivated by ownership, not protection, “She saved your ass earlier, didn’t she? You’re lucky we still have her skills for our cause,” his voice only grows louder, and Blake can almost feel the pain that usually comes in response. Her body tenses despite half the room between them. He continues, “You know I rotate my followers- I never have the exact same crew on more than one job. And yet, I’ve had Baby on nearly every heist I’ve done for years. So you need to take my fucking word for her. Do you hear me?” 

He says that like she’s had a choice, like she hasn’t been forced into this position, like red wouldn’t sear into her and pool out of her if she tried to leave before she was paid up. 

This whole situation is overwhelming, dread’s fingers digging into all her thoughts. She lacks a defense in this room- she knows she can’t speak up, knows that neither of the other two girls could either. They aren’t given room to think, the collective trauma of their position evident to all of them. She knows she can’t say the same about the man in front of her, nor the men she’s done heists with before. Adam’s wrath has qualifications they can’t quite match. 

Griff turns away from her with a huff, continues his dramatic pace around the room. The girls are in their own world, occupying the space just for them despite the crowd, leaving Blake to her own again. She puts her earbud back in, watching as Adam finishes separating the money from today’s job into duffel bags. 

The elevator ride to their cars in the neighboring parking deck is long. Blake stands in the corner staring straight ahead, turning her music up- a synth pop song she remembers from childhood plays. Still, through the music in her ears, it’s impossible to tune out the scene around her. Griff, in front of her, chews gum and blows bubbles- the ‘ _pop_ ’ in her ears an aggravating addition to the ringing. Adam stands close to the door, hand resting on his gun- a sight that never stops being terrifying, a warning. Next to her, Buddy has her girlfriend pushed against the elevator wall, both their duffel bags dropped to the floor carelessly. Blake resists the urge to slam her head against the wall.

The doors open, a sigh falling from her lips. The three crew members move to leave, Buddy the only one to wave goodbye to Blake, her freckles still pink from her girlfriend’s hand in hers. Blake’s eyes track their movements to their cars, the view fading as the elevator doors close on her again- leaving her alone with Adam. 

When the doors open on the next floor, Blake walks behind him as he makes his way to his car. He opens his trunk, places his duffel bag inside, and waits- expects. Blake follows orders, dropping the charade of equal payment by placing her duffel bag next to his. 

“You’re almost paid up, Blake,” Adam says, unzipping the bag and handing her a single stack out of the jackpot in his trunk. She holds her composure, resisting the shiver that wants to course through her at the sound of him using her real name. 

“One more job and I’m done?” she asks for confirmation, voice shaky and barely above a whisper. That was clearly the wrong response. The air around her tenses, her imagination filling in the gaps of his response. Red surrounds her, flashes followed by winces of pain. In reality, he reaches up to pull his mask off, showing his eyes. He falls on this sympathy tactic often, relying on the way it positions him as a victim. She looks away, the letters carved into his eye never become any less difficult to look at no matter how often he shows them. 

“One more job,” His branded eyes meet hers, “and we’re even. That doesn’t mean you’ll stop owing me, Blake.”

  
  


***

  
  


Three floorboards in her apartment are loose- spread out where only she knows to look. She pried them up years ago, a paranoia setting in when Adam first hit her. The space under one holds the stacks of money from each heist she’s driven. It’s nearly sickening to see how full the space is- the evidence of all the harm she’s done builds, even with the bills she removes to pay rent and keep herself alive. The pile grows despite how fervently Blake wishes it wouldn’t. She adds today’s stack on top, fingers shaking, before setting the plank back in place. 

The second hidden spot holds pictures that she keeps safe for herself. Photo albums hold all her closest memories- 5 year old Blake playing in the snow, cheeks red and smile beaming; 7 year old Blake in her dad’s arms, both laughing at something her mom said behind the camera; 12 year old Blake at a record shop, picking out music that would calm her for years to come. The last picture almost hurts in its intensity. She can’t help the version of her in that picture, can’t tell her that her parents are about to join the White Fang, can’t scream at them to leave. Those pictures sit in secret, a comfort she needs to protect. She doesn’t give herself that comfort today, walking straight past the floorboard near her kitchen that holds those dreams. 

The last floorboard, the one she walks towards now, is more hidden than the rest. She pushes a bookshelf to the side, rolls a rug across the floor, finds the carefully cut divot in the side of the plank to reveal the spot. It’s secure enough, she hopes, to hide her journals.

If the stacks of money aren’t enough to make her head reel, the number of journals always is. After each heist, Blake curls up on the floor with her current journal. She pours out, writes every detail down. The pages hold transcripts of the recordings on her scroll, an account of what happened, photos taped to the paper of her bruises and scars. Scattered through all the journals are descriptions of everything Adam has done to her over the years. One journal - the one with a light blue cover covered in white stars, she knows without thinking about it - details what happened the first time she tried to leave. 

He tracked her down, like he always said he would, stabbing her just above her left hip. He twisted the knife before pulling it out, leaving an X shaped scar and lasting damage. She imagines he thought about the placement- it can’t be a coincidence that her driving leg is spared while the other can’t support her weight at times. He brought her back, reminded her of all she owed, never let her fully heal before making her drive again. Blake stayed, after that. She decided she has to hold out until she’s paid up, until she can leave without the weight of all he holds over her. The picture of her stab wound, the pictures of the recovery, are tucked between the pages of that journal- the only one that’s too painful to read through. 

In all, there are nearly thirty journals tucked beneath the floorboard- she almost needs to pry a second one up to make room. She puts aside the ache that comes with looking at the journals, she knows how necessary they are. When she leaves again, when it’s all over, she needs to have the evidence of all that happened to her. 

She falls into the same routine that’s held onto her for years. Sitting on the floor, she watches as her pen transcribes violence in a script far too pretty for the words. It’s another way she heals, getting the thoughts onto paper so they stop weighing down her head. 

When she’s done, the dread makes its way back home, as always; she grabs her keys, as always; she finds herself heading to the diner, as always.

  
  


***

  
  


Just as she sits down in the second booth from the door, the same booth she’s sat in for years, the girl with golden hair approaches the door, entering just as suddenly as she vanished earlier. She’s wearing a diner uniform with chunky brown boots and a jean jacket covered in pins. Her hair is pulled back out of her face, resting in a bun above her undercut, but little pieces fall down into her face anyway. Blake is instantly drawn in; by the way she walks, by how free she looks, by the signs of muscles under her sleeves, by- 

Blake barely picks up on the faint sound of music playing in the girl’s headphones before she sees lips moving to sing along. Her ears turn to the sound without her even trying, entranced.

_I’d give all of my heart to you, Belladonna_

The lyric reaches Blake’s ears and she melts. Of all the songs in the world she could be hearing, the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen is singing a song with _her_ name. She opens the recorder on her scroll, catches the tail end of another line about a beautiful _Belladonna_ , a word made beautiful in her voice the way she’s never felt about her own name. Words that fall from those lips are gilded, divine. She presses ‘save’ with reverence- with the knowledge of the peace it’ll bring her. 

The blonde walks up to her table to take her order, and words have never been so far from Blake’s mouth. Her eyes- a brilliant lilac- track down to Blake’s scroll, the recorder app still open. 

“Are you recording me, baby?” Her voice is sweet like honey, a hint of a laugh in the question, dripping in its slow cadence- like she’s taking her time, like she wants Blake to hear every word. She speaks with an unknown, unfamiliar softness- so completely different from the way Adam has always spoken to her. She feels safe in her voice, makes herself at home in the stranger’s every word.

Blake can only laugh, a little guilty, a small giggle in the back of her throat she didn’t know she was capable of producing. She’s known her for 20 seconds and she already feels light, the burden on her shoulders losing its weight. Her eyes follow the blonde’s fingers as they wrap around her scroll, pressing the record button again, and move up to her lips as she speaks into the mic, “Well what can I get for you today?”

Blake is dumbfounded, lips parting with no words to say. Lost in lavender fields, in golden sunsets.

“It’s okay if you need a minute,” the waitress must take her silence for indecision, only smiling down at her, “I have all the time in the world.” 

The ease and freedom she speaks with is all Blake wants. Words finally make it past her lips, despite how clouded her head is, “Why is that?”

She looks around the diner in response. There’s one older man sitting at the counter, sipping a coffee. The rest of the tables sit empty, too weird a time for a crowded diner. When lavender eyes meet hers again, the girl is smiling down at her- a big, genuine smile. Blake’s so unaccustomed to happiness, the feeling never staying long enough to make itself at home. But she looks _happy-_ a real, genuine happy. 

“I don’t think there are any other customers waiting for me, so I think I can make an exception for the beautiful one in booth 2.” The warmth she radiates hits Blake everywhere, her whole body seems to light up in response. “Is this a morning pick-me-up or did you just get off?”

Blake sighs. “I don’t think I ever get off,” the innuendo hitting her after she speaks, blush creeping up her neck, “When they call, I go.”

“Oooh, how _mysterious_ ,” and Blake can tell there’s genuine interest in her expression, this isn’t just small-talk, “So what do you do?”

Somehow, Blake wasn’t prepared for that question. She never tells anyone what she does, for their safety and her own, but something about her is alluring. She’d tell her anything. She settles for a half-truth, “I’m a driver.”

“Oh that _is_ interesting, do you get to drive around important people? Anyone I would know?” Her brain is probably filled with images of celebrities, politicians. Definitely not the outlaws she’d see composite sketches of if she only looked at the old TV hanging in the corner of the restaurant.

“I hope not,” Blake almost laughs, trying to imagine the girl in front of her being in the same room as Adam. They might as well be in different universes, Blake thinks. And, Gods, would she choose a universe of gold and lavender, road trips and unknowns, over the universe she seems to be stuck in. As if on cue, her burner vibrates against the table, screeching loud enough for her ears to fold against her head. She lets it ring out, knowing she’ll pay for it later.

“So you are mysterious,” her eyebrows wiggle above the lilac eyes that stay fixed on her, “When was the last time you drove just for fun?”

“Yesterday,” is the easy response. She _did_ get to drive around, she _did_ get the feeling of accelerating until her head hit the seat, she _did_ play music to drown everything out. It fit the bill. She chooses to gloss over the obligation, the lack of agency, the dread that hits her stomach when she thinks about the pain their heists are causing. So, yes, yesterday it is. 

“Ugh, you’re so lucky,” Blake hears in response, “how does it feel to live my dream?” She smiles, easy, melting further in her presence. “I have a bike, but I never have the time. I just… work. I’d love to hit the road- no plans, just seeing where every day takes me.”

“I’d like that too,” her response is cut off by the diner’s owner, an older man with gray, spiky hair, clearing his throat in the kitchen- eyeing the way the waitress has been standing at her table for longer than normal. Blake feels the heat in her cheeks. 

“Oh,” the blonde starts, her cheeks turning just as red, “Did you decide on anything?”

“You’re so beautiful,” Blake says, slowly, not sure where the words are coming from. She’d be embarrassed if it weren’t so true, if the girl in front of her wasn’t some kind of goddess. 

“And you just decided that? That’s unfortunate, I hoped you thought that right away,” her laugh cuts through all Blake’s emotions- the isolation, the anger, the hurt- eclipsing all the pain. 

“Well I thought saying ‘You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen’ as my first words to you would’ve been a bit much,” she notices the blush on her cheeks darken despite her confident expression. Blake loves the effect she seems to have on her, loves how it’s mutual. “But I mean it,” she pauses to find her name, looking for her nametag, “Debora?”

The girl just laughs, looking down to check her own name tag, “No, sorry, I just started here. This was someone’s old uniform, I guess.” As she starts to speak again, a customer walks through the doors, making their way to a table. The waitress walks backwards across the diner, not wanting to look away from where Blake sits. “Holler if you have any questions,” she says, finally turning. 

“I do have a question,” Blake speaks up, voice not failing her for once, “What was that song you were singing?”

  
  


***

  
  


At her apartment, her stereo is turned up louder than she’s ever had it. 

_If I could see in your eyes the truth, Belladonna._

She feels giddy almost, the events of this morning still seeming like an outlier in her life. She met a girl that made her head spin, that made her feel special and wanted and beautiful just with her voice, her eyes, her attention.

_Then I’d give all my heart to you, Belladonna._

She spins around her apartment, sliding in her socks across the floor, singing the lyrics she now has memorized. The dizziness setting into her head still doesn’t match the way she felt around her. _Her;_ she still doesn’t know her name. Is it stupid, she wonders, to be this hung up on someone that’s still technically a stranger? She doesn’t entertain the other thoughts, of past lives and a strange familiarity between them.

_And now I’ve got nothing left to lose, Belladonna._

The real world crashes back to her as her burner scroll vibrates against her dresser. The reverberation, the eerie buzz, is so discordant from her mood it makes her ears ache. Of course, she thinks, I can’t have anything good for long. 

She pauses the music in time to pick up her scroll, hesitant but obedient. She already let it ring through once at the diner. She wouldn’t get the chance to do it a third time, wouldn’t make it that far alive, so she picks up now. The breathing on the other line leaves her unable to think clearly, a chill running the length of her spine. 

“Baby, I’ve been calling,” Adam starts, sinister and haunting despite the words. His ‘ _baby_ ’ rings in her ears so differently from the girl at the diner’s- a prison rather than an escape. He’s always spoken to her like property, like she has no way out. That thought latched onto her brain, too.

“I’m sorry,” she moves to the defensive, to the groveling, to what she knows she has to do to survive. The power he has over her brain, even over the phone, is terrifying. The fog descends, coating every thought in an anxious dread. She breathes deep, trying to soothe her brain into any emotion other than fear, “I wasn’t by my phone.”

“We have a job.”

  
  


***

  
  


She walks into the warehouse near the docks of Vale, the building where Adam has planned their last several heists. They move bases frequently, not wanting to stay any place long enough for the cops to find them. All three faces she sees are new; a faunus with fox ears, a girl with pink and brown hair split down the middle, and a woman with one amber eye. The woman stands taller than Blake, dressed in all black, black hair falling over her missing eye. She already comes with a fear Blake isn’t used to- having long ago grown accustomed to the criminals she works with.

“Meet your new crew,” Adam’s voice calls out as she takes her seat in the corner. “There’s Foxy,” he started introductions, nodding to the man. It was unusual for faunus to make their nicknames related to their traits. If someone she worked with called her kitty she’d deck them with no hesitation. 

“That’s Hush,” he continues, meaning the girl with pink hair. She didn’t look like she could do much harm, but her stare at Blake was intense. “And this is Bats,” he finishes, gesturing to the woman in black beside him. 

“Everyone knows who I am, Doc,” the woman’s voice was low, sultry in a way she didn’t expect, “No need to remind her.” 

Blake absolutely did not know who she was, but she got the impression that would be a bad thing to respond with. The way she paced slowly around the room kept Blake frozen in her seat. She was terrifying, even without giving her a reason to think so. A cut out on her top reveals a tattoo on her center back that looks like a pair of heels pointed at each other. 

“This is your girl, right, Doc? The one that listens to music all the time?” She speaks again. 

The way every question about her is addressed to him infuriates Blake- the way she’s viewed as his property, the way she basically is. Her ownership of herself died with everything else, she knows. She’s seething, so she finally speaks.

“My name is Baby,” It comes out angrier than her normal voice, more frustrated, in total contrast with the softness of the words. The woman in front of her only laughs, makes her way to Adam. 

“Jesus, Doc, who’s the kid? She doesn’t look like she can handle this.” Her voice is laced with humor at Blake’s expense. The anger stays, simmering over the anxiety and fear that came before. 

“If you can’t take my word for her, get back in the fucking elevator,” Adam’s voice rises across the room. In any other context, having someone stick up for her would make Blake feel safe. In this one, with Adam’s anger and possession, it makes her sick. “You’ve heard about the Schnee Freight Car robbery? The one that had the SDC shaking in their boots for years?”

“Of course,” she responds, bored. “You don’t mean to tell me that was her? That was years ago. She would’ve been, what? 14?” 

Adam smiles, small and cruel in all the ways Blake fears. “That was her first job after I caught her. She was trying to steal a car from me. I realized then how talented she was, how much guts it would take to try to steal from _me_. She was poor, alone, and I took her in. She clearly didn’t know the price of everything she dumped from the car, but once I tracked her down I made sure she knew what I was capable of. She’s been paying back what she owes me since then.”

He leaves a lot out, she realizes, when he gets to tell the story. He has the agency over her depiction, he chooses the details that position them in a pretty package. He ignores how her parents worked with him in the White Fang- how they never came back one day, how she was just trying to get away. He skips the age difference between them when he found her. He forgets how she idolized him, how he took advantage of that. He conveniently leaves out how he first hit her when she was only 15, how she’s forced to stay with him, how the danger of heists never fills her with fear the way he does. 

Her stomach twists, her face nearly doing the same. She takes his words in - recognizing what his words lack - with utter disgust. The man before her has hurt her so deeply his doubt has found a home in her head. It’s far too easy to convince herself she deserves it, that every word and fist leveraged against her is rooted in some reasoning other than his spite. She knows, though, that there could be more. Ten minutes of interaction with a stranger at a diner were filled with more happiness than the years of being under Adam. 

Adam takes his stance at the blackboard, drawing the city block where their next heist would take place. Blake feels Bats’ eyes on her as she presses the ‘volume up’ button on her scroll, a rock song blasting through her headphones. She takes a seat at the end of their long conference table. The distance doesn’t matter, she knows she can hear the plan with the way her free set of ears ache at every sound. 

The faunus stares intently at Adam, focusing on his every word as he outlines their plan. Hush looks his way passively, like she has something better to do. Bats’ amber eye, however, stays fixed on Blake.

The song playing in her headphones has a drum beat that Blake has always loved, and her fingers tap it out as she listens to both the song and their leader. She can feel Bats get angrier, the air around them almost seeming to heat up. She lets out a huff as Blake’s lips start to mouth the words of the song. 

“-ready for an 8:30 start in the A.M.,” Adam’s voice fades back in. “Any questions?”

Bats’ hand is in the air immediately, “Yeah, Doc, I have a question. Why was your _Baby_ not listening to any fucking word you said?”

Adam leans onto the table, resting on his hands, “Were you listening, Baby?”

Blake sighs, removing the headphones from her ears. She winces at the ringing, the overstimulation that doesn’t get easier regardless of how long she’s been accustomed to it. Looking the angry woman in the eye, she recites their plan with precision, “Our target is an armored truck delivering dust to From Dust ‘Til Dawn on 71st street. The truck is scheduled for a 10 o’clock delivery sharp. The shop is directly next to Vale Highway so we should be able to hit the entrance ramp within 60 seconds of our getaway. 

“Doc also found a diversion crew: a few men from the White Fang will blow up a ramen shop on the other side of town to give the cops something to do. The switch cars are ready at the parking deck off Exit 112, but you want me to lift a car to start with tomorrow- a family car that could blend in with morning traffic. Something on the heavier side in case we encounter trouble,” Blake finally takes a breath, “Oh, and we’re wearing Grimm masks, as always. We need to be ready for an 8:30 start in the A.M.”

The show of remembrance doesn’t make the woman any less angry at her. “Well... ain’t that cute,” she huffs out, standing to leave. All eyes follow her but Adam’s- 

“That’s my baby,” Adam praises, and she wishes he wouldn’t. Her lungs burn, the air she holds in She puts her headphones back in, presses play, and drowns the world out again.

  
  


***

  
  


They arrive at the dust shop right on time. The armored SDC van sits in front, with a guard and one worker in front to unload. Blake stares at the logo on the truck, at the letters that match those carved into Adam’s left eye. SDC jobs have always been easier for Blake to rationalize, the injustice and corruption justifying their retribution. The crew places the masks on their faces as Blake pulls into the parking lot, obscured from the cameras by a line of trees. 

The parking lot is totally empty save for one older man getting into his truck. He stares at them, at the masks on their faces, and makes no move to drive away. Blake’s stomach drops, anxiety setting in. _They’ve had an audience before_ , she reminds herself, _it’s okay that someone will see_. She pulls the bow over her ears a little tighter, pushes her sunglasses up, clings to whatever’s left of her anonymity. 

Bats turns to the others, starting a speech that Blake thinks is just as much for herself as it is for the crew, “Remember: what’s in that truck is ours. The SDC and Atlas elites have taken everything from us. They hoard power, they hoard money, they hoard dust. They have what’s rightfully ours. Let’s go get it back.”

A rap song sets the tone- a beat following along with the way her heart beats, like it’s trying to break through her ribs. She needs the adrenaline, the momentum, the song gives her before they can begin. She gives a nod when the first verse breaks out, hearing the accompanying sound of doors opened, guns cocked. 

Her eyes track Bats as she leads the pack. She rushes ahead- missing the organization, the choreographed movements of most crews she’s worked with. She acts as if she’s alone, footsteps cocky and offbeat. The butt of her gun slams against the guard’s head- Blake’s cue to look away. She pulls the car forward a few feet until the mirrors no longer line up with the violence- a deniability she lets herself find comfort in. The ‘ _bang_ ’s in the distance could just be sound effects, the yelling could be background vocals. She knows it’s wrong, knows how she’s contributing to the violence a few feet away from her.

The sound of the armored truck doors slamming shut rings out and Blake reverses to the spot between the trees for the crew to return. They pour into the car one by one, her ears folding down at the doors slamming around her. Her foot moves to the gas- stopping short when Blake’s eyes take in the scene.

The guard and the worker both lay on the ground, blood pooling around their heads. One of them had been slammed into the armored truck, his head busted in. Both of them had bullet holes scattered across their bodies. It’s so _much,_ Blake thinks, struck by how gorey the scene is. Red seeps into the concrete, splattered on the truck, coating their clothes. She can’t peel her eyes away, can’t make a motion to leave, can’t think about anything but _red_ . In her periphery, out of focus, blurry voices yell. Headphones are ripped out of her ears, tearing away the fast voices that countered how slow and foggy her brain moves. Words, disconnected from voices, make their way through the smoke, the red, the ringing. ‘ _Baby’_ , one screams. ‘ _Drive'_ , comes another. ‘ _Come on’_ , ‘ _Fuck_ ’, ‘ _They’re coming_ ’. 

One of them must have said enough to get through, she feels her foot pressing down on the gas with a familiar intensity. Her head isn’t on the road, staying somewhere surrounded by red. Running, the getaway, the escape- its all instinctual by now. If there’s one thing she knows, it’s running away- she can go through the motions, actions taken with no thoughts to support them. 

When she makes it to the end of the parking lot, she braces, cutting over the sidewalk onto the main road. Adam’s planning was right; they hit the highway almost immediately. 

She hears sirens already, ears folding down but unable to block the sound out. In the rearview mirror, the red and blue flashes are accompanied by an unexpected sight- the pickup truck from the parking lot followed them over the sidewalk. If someone is angry and self-righteous enough to feel the need to follow them, that isn’t a good sign. 

The truck follows close, weaving through cars just as Blake does. When they make it to an empty stretch of highway, he merges to the next lane. He pulls up next to them, swerving into the side of their car. They all brace, Blake having to swerve to stay on the road.

“Stay still,” Bats yells, “I’ll get him.” 

Her gun crosses in front of Blake, fires one shot to break the window. The gunshot hits her ears with a force, glass landing on her lap and cutting into her arm.

Blake comes into focus, finally, and realizes what Bats is about to do. 

She panics, yanking the steering wheel until the car pulls off into the exit ramp. When Bats fires her gun, it hits the side of an eighteen wheeler instead of its target- the truck continues on the highway. Fire, red and indiscriminate, burns in Blake’s head. Her world heats up as Bats stares at her, a seething anger occupying the passenger seat.

Blake hits a packed city street. Their car is dented, torn up, past the point of blending in. When they come to a stop at a red light, they all know what the next step is. Blake just doesn’t know how to cope with it. They ditch the car, grabbing their duffle bags and running up the road until they reach a car inconspicuous enough. 

Bats opens the front door, pointing her gun at the woman in the front seat. Blake looks away, expecting to hear a gunshot. Instead, the woman stays silent. She gets out of the car, hands held high, tears streaming down her face. That hits Blake harder, somehow, than the violence she expected. 

They take their seats in the stolen car, Blake not aiming to drive yet. She looks around the car for anything important- grabbing a purse and a scroll- throwing it out the window to the woman. Blake mouths, unable to make a noise, “I’m sorry.”

The light turns green and the adrenaline takes over, as it always does. She races down the city blocks, storefronts blurring as she passes.

“Shit,” coming from the man in the backseat, “I left my shotgun in the last car.”

Bats is fuming in the seat next to her, turning to the back with a force unmatched in nature. “Are you fucking _kidding me_ , Foxy?”

The man is lucky Bats doesn’t pull her gun out, Blake thinks. There isn’t time for that, anyway.

“Cops,” Blake says, any tone absent- words falling flat, “get down.”

She slows down to avert suspicion, the other three slouching down in their seats. Red and blue lights pass them on the other side of the street, too focused on making it to the highway to notice them. A collective sigh echoes through the car. 

Blake makes it to the parking deck. She parks on a high floor with less people. The crew gets out of the car, splitting off into two’s for the final drive. Bats follows her to one of the cars, and Blake finds herself wishing she were paired with anyone else. 

  
  


***

  
  


The drive back to the warehouse was eerily silent even through the constant lull of music in Blake’s ears. Bats never looked at the road, her eye trained on Blake as she drove- like she was just waiting for her to crack. Her gaze burned into her like she was looking for an excuse to lash out, searching for a root to base her violence in. 

When they pull up at the parking deck by the docks, coming to rest at a spot a few down from Foxy’s car, Blake finally feels Bats’ gaze leave her. The amber eyes now rest on Foxy as he walks towards their warehouse entrance. 

“Do you see him?” Her hand reaches up to turn Blake’s face towards the man walking away, next to the short woman skipping ahead of him. “Foxy is an idiot. But I don’t take you as an idiot, Baby. So I need you to answer a question for me.”

Blake’s heart pounds in her chest, out of time with the beat of the music in her ears. The dissonance grows with her anxiety, pooling in her head just as red does in her vision. She’s felt too much today already, seen too much, to feel much of anything now- the chemicals falling short of emotion, landing on numbness. 

“Did you make me miss that shot?”

She thinks back to that moment, her decision to swerve the car as Bats’ gun pointed at the man driving the truck. She shakes her head ‘no’, scared of how her voice might give her away. All her concentration goes to keeping her face clear of expression as she looks at the woman in the passenger seat, suddenly insecure about whether her sunglasses are opaque enough to hide the way her eyes shake. 

“You’re a good driver, Baby,” she hears the sound of a gun cocking, feels the tip of the barrel come to rest against her temple, “but you’re a bad liar. We wouldn’t want something to happen to that pretty face, now, would we?”

Blake feels herself swallow, closing her eyes as the metal presses into her skin. There’s no use in fighting, no way out she’s interested in plotting. Her brain moves past fear into acceptance faster than anyone should- the visions of red might as well cover her, too.

Instead of a bang, instead of her own blood adding to the splatter on Bats’ clothes, the cool metal is taken away as fast as it came. Bats speaks up again, venom laced in the words, “So grab your purse, go on our coffee run, and _never_ come between me and what I want again.” 

As Blake leaves the car, begging her knees not to give out, she looks back at the car one final time. She takes in the way Bats’ gaze moves to Foxy, noting the way she doesn’t make a move to put down her gun.

  
  


***

  
  


Blake returns with four coffees in hand, making her way around the room to deliver them. She slides a coffee to Bats, her eyes seeming to hold less disdain for her than in their previous encounter. Adam receives the next, lips curling in an unsettling smile. She walks around the table, handing the third to Hush. The girl, still quiet, tips her hat in a silent thank you. Blake stills with the fourth coffee in hand, undelivered. 

“Looking for Foxy?” Blake’s eyes snap up to Bats- taking in her slanted smile, her fingers tapping on the table, the extra grimm mask sitting in front of her with no owner to be found. She just laughs at Blake’s stunned silence, pulling the extra mask to her face as a punchline that never reaches funny, “He’s long gone, Baby.”

A lump rises in her throat, uncertainty dwelling with the dread. Crew members don’t just leave before the pay is given out. Adam looks surprisingly calm as he stares straight down at the money he’s counting. There’s no anger there, none of the fury that would rest on his face if someone walked out. Something must have happened. The dread pools, a disillusion from the blank faces of the crew around her. The anxiety follows her to the elevator, the parking deck, the trunk of Adam’s car. 

“I’m a man of my word,” Adam lies, both of them knowing all the times that has been proven wrong. Regardless, he continues on, “You’re all paid up.”

She takes the stack of bills from him, but Blake’s eyes never make it to Adam’s. She doesn’t feel the satisfaction in knowing she’s done- she doesn’t even glance at the duffel bag in Adam’s trunk that acts as her last payment. Her eyes stay fixed over his shoulder. 

A few feet away sits their getaway car from earlier, the trunk slightly ajar. A small line of blood trails down the bumper. Blake can’t look away, can’t find it in herself to shut down the way she normally does around the violence that fills her life. She adds it up in her head, knows who’s body would be inside without having to confirm. This feels real in a way distant bullet sounds or driving around people with guns never has. This is tangible, blood pooling behind her eyes as it does on the ground below the car. 

Adam snaps at her, tries to earn her attention away from the evidence of gore. He follows her eye line, giving a disinterested ‘oh’ sound as he makes his way to the back of the car. He opens the trunk, moves the piece of fabric that caught the door from closing, and slams it closed once again. In that split second, Blake sees the body. Their missing crewmate lays there, crumpled into the small trunk, coated in his own blood. The image of his face, bullet hole through his features, is burned into Blake’s head. It stays, through the door being closed, through Adam tossing her the keys, through him telling her to ‘sunset’ the car, through the drive to the junkyard. The image stays. 

She walks through the junkyard, glass crunching under her boot as she takes in the scraps of metal around her. Every car here had a history, Blake realizes. Some of them broke down, sure, but most were probably in accidents. There are people who didn’t survive their paths crossing with these vehicles. She doubts, though, that many of the cars she looks at now had dead bodies in their trunks before they were crushed. She stares, and she stares, several songs passing through her ears before she can even think to begin the process of the car she drove today becoming like the rest around her. 

A soft piano ballad in her headphones muffles the mechanical whirr of the crane lifting the car into the crusher. In her blurred, double vision, she watches the metal walls rise around it- the machine crushing the metal with no resistance. All she can think of is the body being crushed within, how she’s powerless to stop it. _Maybe,_ she thinks, _this makes me just as bad as him._

He’s caused so much hurt, he’s been the cause of so many deaths. And she’s been there. She’s stood by - looked away - as bullets rip through flesh, she’s rammed police cars until they look as crushed as the cars around her, she’s stayed silent as Adam terrorizes the city she’s in. 

She didn’t have a choice, she tells herself- or tries to. She knows every timeline where she spoke up ended with her in this car instead, with more stab wounds, with no future stretching before her like it does now. That doesn’t change what she has to live with. There’s only so much time can fix, only so much of what has marred her that will disappear when she leaves. 

But she’s done. Done with heists, done with Adam, done with all of it.

There’s a peace, almost, in how far she’s fallen. In the way ash cannot be burned again, how the tide still goes out after a hurricane- she has nowhere further to fall. 

She takes her sunglasses off, wiping the stray tear that falls while she’s still unable to look away from the car being crushed, the body within. Her gloves come off too, all the signs of her occupation thrown to the compactor. She won’t be needing them anymore. As a final goodbye, she reaches for her burner scroll, the one that only rings when Adam calls, and throws it as far as she can- the distant _thud_ echoed by her heart beating loud in her ears. 

She turns away- _free_. The word she’s never felt before, the peace she’s never had on her own before, the metal bars around her that she’s never been able to bend before. She tries to focus on the freedom, on the light, as it eclipses the shadows of all she’s been a part of.

Blake makes her way down the city street, eyeing the diner on the corner. A love song comes on shuffle, left un-skipped for once.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, this fic has been a long time coming and i'm excited for the rest of it!! let me know what you think- comments really make my day <3
> 
> also the next chapter will be more bee-centric, blake just had to be gay and do crimes first :)
> 
> you can find me on twitter @gayxiaolong as well


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